“Sleep tight, Elle Jo. You can give me all the shit you want about how I saved your life. Truth is, you saved mine. I'd have wound up dead sooner or later with my temper, if I didn't have something to keep it in check.” I kissed her cheek, listening to her moan softly, nuzzling her face into me. “Only gonna let it loose one more time. Then it's done and gone forever, baby girl. I'm killing it for you.”
I closed my eyes and slept like a dead man for several hours. When I woke up to the pounding on my door, I shifted outta bed carefully, leaving Elle deep in her dreams.
“Yeah?” I cracked the door, and saw Brass' dark face looking at me.
“Church, brother. Five minutes.”
I nodded, closed the door, and pulled my cut off its hanger. I lingered a minute longer as I rolled it onto my shoulders, staring at the woman sleeping in my bed, the one who'd just handed me the rest of my life.
It was gonna be absolutely fucking glorious.
“Bring him in.” Blackjack clenched the bear paw so tight his fingers turned white.
The tension was back in the room. Everybody in the Redding crew stared across to Tacoma. Not that the assholes would try anything, no matter how heated it got, because we outnumbered them in droves.
Our prospects waited outside. Stryker and Southpaw held the door from our side, only stepping outta the way when Gil staggered in, taking the seat reserved next to our Prez.
The motherfucker shuffled like a damned zombie. Plopping down into the empty seat, he gave the Prez that thousand yard stare I'd seen on guys before, when they'd been through too much shit. Usually, those guys snapped.
I eyeballed Roman, and he looked at me. The Enforcer understood. He was more than ready for anything fucking crazy. The prospects had patted Gil down before he entered, but who the hell knew what a man might do when he had nothing left to lose.
“You fucked up something awful, brother,” Blackjack growled, giving the Tacoma Prez a look straight from hell. “You put my whole club in peril. You're not a stupid man, though I've got to wonder with everything that's happened. You, Gil, know exactly what the rules say about mother charter and her right to reign in chapters going rogue. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, brother. It's all your –“
“Shut up.”
Two words, and I knew Elle's old man had lost his fucking mind forever. Nobody cut Blackjack off, and you sure as shit didn't tell him to shut up.
All the Redding brothers bristled, including me.
Across the table, Line looked nervous, torn between his loyalty to a man who'd flipped his shit, and the full Grizzlies MC assembly here.
Slowly, Gil stood. Half the room was ready to pounce and knock him the fuck down if he so much as reached into his pockets. I didn't trust the pat check he'd received before coming in here one bit – a twenty year veteran in this club had plenty of ways to hide weapons if he wanted to kill a man bad enough.
Gil reached for his own chest with his single good hand. We watched him grab the PRESIDENT patch by several loose stitches in the corner. He pulled hard, 'til we heard the tear ripping through the dead silence.
It popped right off his leather cut without so much as a thread hanging. Shaking, Gil turned to Line, and opened his torn up lips.
“Hand out,” he whispered.
The Tacoma Veep did as he asked, and everybody calmed when we saw the patch passed to him. “This crown's yours now, brother. Remember my fucking mistakes.”
Gil turned back to Blackjack. Our Prez nodded coldly.
Deep down, he was probably just as relieved as the rest of us, but his face didn't show it. The bastard had given up his power without a fight, and that was all that mattered.
Blackjack looked merciless as the defeated asshole turned away, heading for the door. A lesser man would've felt sorry for the poor sonofabitch, but I had nothing except pure relief pumping through my blood.
Maybe he'd actually paid the price for losing his post and a fully functional body, too. Maybe I wouldn't try to fuck him up, as soon as I dealt with Zee.
“Let him through,” Blackjack ordered.
The whole room watched while our boys stepped aside. Gil limped out, heading straight for the bar, ready to drown his agony in the only shit with a prayer of saving his miserable soul.
It was Line's turn to look at Blackjack.
“Tacoma's in your hands now,” the Prez said, studying the bear claw gavel in his hand. “Treat it right, and you won't wind up in his place.”
“You've vetted me. Don't have to tell any of you what I can do. You can all count on me to set things right. I'll rebuild the Tacoma charter the way it should've been the first time, without any antsy fuckers ready to walk off a cliff. I won't do anything that'll bring down hell on the whole club.”